So It's Raining

It’s raining again. Why does it seem the weather waits until I have a day off and then rains?  It’s not all bad though.  I happen to like rain.  There was a winter I spent in Vancouver and it rained at one point or another for 28 straight days.  It was an inconvenience but a welcome replacement for snow.  When it rains the grass always looks greener and the streets are always cleaner.  As a boy I would take my tricycle out in the rain and put the front wheel in the mud between the road and my house.  Then I would spin the tire until it made a deep impression.  The next day I would go back and see that it had hardened.  When it would rain next (within a couple of days in Michigan) I would make an identical mark next to it and count how many days it rained that month.  Keeping track of it in my head seemed impossible and writing was not yet part of my repertoire.  Back then my mother didn’t work outside the home.  She had seen too many people grow up afraid of the rain and not celebrating it.  There was a huge tree outside our front door that provided a great deal of shade.  We would pack up my little lunch box and a sack for her and have rain picnics.  The ground was almost entirely dry and the rain in Michigan usually just came straight down, sometimes in a drizzle.  That meant the ground under the tree was dry and we could sit and watch the puddles grow or the cars splash the water off the road.  It was glorious.  I would run around under the tree.  All my siblings were in school, so it was just Mom and me.  We didn’t need to go anywhere or spend money or anything fancy.  She helped me appreciate the rain as nothing more than a change in the weather.  Naturally, if there was lightning we would sit inside the screen door and fight the dog for a view through the glass.  Moving to Mississauga (a suburb of Toronto) and living in a fourth floor of a condominium sort of took some of the Christopher Robbin  out of the rain experience for me but I would prop myself up on my chest of drawers to watch the cars travel down Dundas Street.  It was there that I started “Quest for the Red Sapphire” on a rainy day.  My grandparents owned a cottage on the north shore of Lake Erie in extreme southern Ontario where we moved after Mississauga and the start of Dad’s health problems.  The house was only about 20 feet back from the break wall where waves would crash during a storm.  There was a three-season porch facing the lake.   My mother would brew a pot of tea and we would sit on swings and watch wind, lightning and 10 foot waves crash outside.  When the waves hit the wall the water would shoot up like in the air as high as the second floor of the house.  As we sipped our tea she would sometimes sing (her voice was opera quality and her major in college) or I would tell her a part of one of my books.  She was fascinated by the details and always wanted to know more.  Sometimes the rest of the family would join us and then the singing and my book telling would stop.  No one else seemed interested in her singing or my stories but we welcomed them all the same.  Everyone would tell funny stories and occasionally sad ones but we would all marvel at these tremendous storms that must have terrified sailors while we sat on our swings and drank our tea.  So you see, the pitter patter of rain drops outside my window today is nothing more than an old friend stopping by.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

More about Linvin’s background.
Mandrean scanned the crowd.  “Will someone bring the Prisoners to their feet?”   An Imperial Guard stepped over to Linvin’s party and gestured with his sword for them to stand.  Having no choice in the matter, the elves complied.  Rander was speechless at what he’d heard so far.  Bander was totally confused.  Anvar’s eyes began to form tears.  Linvin, however, was enraged.  Anger poured from his expressions like a cup already filled with more liquid being added.  The fury caused his body to shake.  Anvar held his hand to restrain his nephew.  “My friends and guests,” Mandrean began.  “I present to you Bander, Rander and Anvar Greenlith accompanied by Dirk’s son Linvin Grithinshield. “Linvin, step forward,” Mandrean ordered.  Releasing his uncle’s hand, Linvin boldly walked into the middle of the map on the floor and harshly threw the nearby pawns out of the way.  He stood with his hands on his hips and a furious expression on his face.   The emperor observed him for a moment.  “Hmmm.  Somehow I thought you would appear more impressive.  No matter.”   Mandrean began reading aloud from the scroll.  “An assassin was dispatched to Valia. When he arrived Linvin had already left.  He did, however, learn a great deal about our distinguished guest.  After studying with Sedemihcra for a number of years, Linvin joined the Valian Army.  He served with distinction and advanced through the ranks at an unprecedented rate.  The half-elf Sedemihcra called his Greatest Student Ever became Supreme Commander of the Combined Armies of Valia.   “For years we had sent armaments to the Swamp Goblins in the Southern Marshes in hopes of destabilizing Valia.  Despite all our efforts including training their warlords, the man you see before you checked us at every turn with meager resources.  At one point the goblins even managed to lay siege to the capital, but Grithinshield dealt them a crushing blow with a minimal force at his command.  In all he won over a dozen major battles and earned the honorary title ‘Defender of Valia’.  After winning three startling victories to completely crush the largest invasion attempt to date, Grithinshield abandoned his men and resigned his commission.” Mandrean looked at Linvin in disgust.  “You were at the peak of your power and you quit?  It says here King Hardurian even offered to adopt you as a son and make you his heir.  Even then you refused and asked to be discharged.  For a man who is reported to be a genius on the battlefield, you certainly have no grasp of politics.”   Linvin remained silent in his rage, not seeking to indulge the inferior man addressing his character.  The twins gazed at Linvin in awe.  They’d never fully realized the scope of his accomplishments. Mandrean continued.  “By the way.  It says here they just completed your statue when my man left Valia.  It depicts you on horseback with a sword in one hand and pointing with the other as though you were giving orders.  The statue is on a pedestal in the City Square.  The whole thing sounds a little ostentatious for my taste but I suppose some people need their ego stroked more than others.  Pity you will never see it.”

Saturday Excerpt "Quest"

And so it starts…
With all the commotion of daily commerce, the sounds of hoof steps from a galloping horse entering town went unnoticed.  The steed’s pace had become erratic.  It had thrown a shoe and was foaming at the mouth.  The animal was ready to collapse.  Pausing for a moment, once reaching the center of town, the rider produced a scroll.  He did not open it.  Rather, he merely read what was written on the outside and then tried to find his bearings in the unfamiliar place.  After turning his horse around several times, the rider determined the route he must take and headed down a street.  Soon, he stopped before a great redwood and checked the inscription on the door against the writing on the scroll.  The door read, Linvin Grithinshield - # 7 Spruce Lane.  Convinced he had found his destination, the rider dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby post. He briskly approached the door and rang the bell. Sounds of a chair sliding across a floor could be heard from inside.  The echo of footsteps was heard coming ever nearer to the door.  It swung open, to bring the resident and rider face to face. Linvin stood in the doorway, wearing a scarlet robe and a confused expression.  Outside, an exhausted young human boy was bent down with his hands on his knees in an effort to regain his breath.  He lifted only his eyes as the door opened. “It’s quite early to be running around like this,” Linvin said with a sympathetic smile.  “What brings you to my door in such a state?” The boy held out the scroll and said between deep breaths, “I come from the town of Fraylic; in the Human County.  An old elf there told me to deliver this to Mr. Linvin Grithinshield of Missandor by this morning at the latest.  Are you he, sir?” “He and I are the same,” Linvin laughed.  He took the scroll and noted the seal on the outside.  He was very familiar with the symbol impressed in the wax as it matched his own family ring.  Opening the note he found the following words:
Greetings and Salutations My Dear Nephew, If all has gone as planned you should be reading this on the morning of the ninth day of this month.  I shall be arriving in Missandor sometime in the evening of that day. I need to speak with you in person about some urgent matters, which will have a serious bearing on our futures. I send this message, in advance, in order for you to prepare.  First, tell those in town and at your store that you are going away on a long trading expedition for the company.  Tell them you may be gone for as much as a year.  Pack a mule with equipment and provisions for a long journey. I know this makes no sense right now my Boy, but do what I say and trust in me.  The time is at hand for the moon to come out from behind the clouds. I have never and would never lead you astray.
Your Loving Uncle, Anvar
 Linvin’s expression changed to a look of concern, heightened by anticipation. “Sir,” the boy interjected, “the old elf told me you would pay me ten gold pharrings for getting this message here by this morning.” Linvin looked at him inquisitively.  “When did you leave Fraylic?” “Yesterday morning, sir.” “That is a two day ride!” Linvin exclaimed as he observed the condition of the boy’s horse.  “You must not have stopped at all.” “Only for a moment here and there to rest my steed,” the boy explained as normal color returned to his face. Linvin reached behind the door and produced his money purse.  Opening the flap he began counting out money.  “Here are the ten pharrings you were promised, five more for your swift delivery, and another five to get yourself a room down the road at the inn, a good meal and a shoe for that horse of yours.” The boy was overcome by the generosity.  He thanked Linvin and then ran down the lane toward the inn, nearly leaving his mount behind. Linvin closed the door and returned to his breakfast table.  His eggs and ham lay unfinished on the plate before him.  Setting them aside, he read the letter over and over.  There was an ominous tone to the note, particularly the part referring to the ‘serious bearing on their futures’. While the letter made little sense to Linvin, he was sure of one thing.  He had the utmost trust and faith in his uncle.  If Anvar wanted those things to be done, he had a good reason.  That thinking alone was enough to make Linvin follow the instructions.

What's in a Name?

I was thinking about different blog topics today and decided to start lunch while doing so.  When I’m just feeding myself I usually go with something simple and comforting.  Nothing says that like a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  I looked at the box and thought for a moment.  While it is hardly gourmet cuisine I, nevertheless, always by Kraft.  I ate the off brands (especially in college) and they were just not the same.  Then I started to think about it.  There are some products where the name on them means nothing to me.  Other times I am convinced a certain brand is better.   My wife will even point out that certain products are nearly identical but my mind is made up.  Take some examples of products I am indifferent to the brand I am buying:  eggs, aspirin (or Tylenol type product), gasoline, motor oil, bread, milk, vitamins, mustard, ketchup, meat from the counter, fruit, canned vegetables, paper towels, computer paper, dental floss, pumpkin pie, cheese, wallets (not purses ladies, men’s wallets), trash pick-up (yes I have to pay to have my trash picked up), light bulbs, orange juice, pasta, sandwich bags, brake pads, ranch dressing and so on.  Now consider the items that I will stick with one brand on and at worst wait for it to go on sale: obviously Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Oreos (there is no substitute), Nike shoes, certain lunch meats, Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, Michelin Tires (to be fair I would also consider Goodyear if they made the right one for my car), Prego pasta sauce, Tostito’s Salsa, Doritos, Stouffer’s lasagna, Yoplait yogurt, Country Crock margarine, Diet Pepsi (I was raised on it and I am hopelessly hooked), Lays potato chips, Tostitos tortilla chips (Pepsico must love me), Calvin Klein Obsession for Men, Gillette shaving cream, Russell Stover chocolates, HP printers (you can always find ink), Sonicare toothbrushes (no cavities since I started using it 5 years ago) Quilted Northern toilet paper and La-Z-Boy rocker recliners (always had one, always will).  Are these products better than their competitors’ offerings?  Were the previous items of which I had no brand loyalty really negligible in their difference from other choices?  Sometimes I really do not think there is a difference.  They may be made in the same plant under the same guidelines and simply packaged differently.  If you believe that then there is no reason to pay extra for a name.  Mind you, it still baffles me that a manufacturer would make two identical products and sell one for less.  Still, it does happen.  Medications are a perfect example of it.  Other times people are convinced that say the Vicks brand sleep medicine works better than the store brand.  For that person I am sure it does.  It could be they are right and there is a subtle difference.  It could also be the placebo effect.  In the end, it’s about getting a good night’s sleep.  If a person believes a product will do that for them and it does, who am I to argue?  Other times there is a clear difference in the name brand.  Perhaps they use better ingredients or have higher quality standards.  Maybe they simply have a recipe that no one else can duplicate exactly (Oreos) and the best a competitor can do is imitate it.  With name brands there is usually a trust factor.  The product has either worked well for you or someone who recommended it and you seek that same level of performance.  Let me ask you this; how many times did you stray from the brand you were loyal to for any given reason and found yourself dissatisfied with the results?  Maybe you tried the cheap ice cream and didn’t like it.  Perhaps you bought the inexpensive tires and they didn’t last.  Maybe you bought the store brand pop on sale and it tasted like battery acid.  Whether real or imaginary, we each have our own list of items we hold brandless and others we buy because of brand and we stand by those beliefs.  It is a shopping religion of things you believe in and things you don’t.

Writing IS Work

It’s raining outside and when I lean back in my office chair something about the tilt of it or the room makes it swivel around to face the double windows.  I watch the cars drive by my house and splash the small puddles of water as they go.  A conga-like drum beat emanates from the eves trough and rushes out the end of the drain just on the other side of the wall.  It is a glorious day to work…on writing.  Many people have this belief that writing is not work.  While I do enjoy it and that certainly makes it far more entertaining than any other work to me, it is still taxing.  Writing makes me tired and feel spent when completed for the day.  That sounds like work.  Back in high school I remember having a heated debate with my physics teacher when he asked the question, “If you hold a dumbbell above your head, are you doing any work?”  Naturally I took the position that the person was in fact working and he was set to prove me wrong.  In the scientific community according to Answers.com, work is defined as, “work-applying a force to an object and the object moving in the direction the force is applied.”  Since the object was not moving, from a scientific perspective no work was being done.  I think a lot of people look at writing in the same way.  A writer does not leave the house or commute to a job.  There is no office or factory and the workday is not set in stone.  Paydays are irregular at best.  When someone asks you what you did today or whenever and your answer is, “I wrote” they look at you as though you took the day off or did nothing when you, in fact, accomplished quite a bit.  The dumbbell may not have moved but you are still awfully spent.  Webster’s has a broader view of work.  They define work as, “Activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something:   a   :  sustained physical or mental effort to overcome obstacles and achieve an objective or result   b   :  the labor, task, or duty that is one's accustomed means of livelihood   c   :  a specific task, duty, function, or assignment often being a part or phase of some larger activity.”  In this example writing is given its due.  It is not a phenomenon isolated to writers.  Other artists feel the same disrespect.  It is different, though, with writers.  Most of the time people can’t look at what you’ve produced in a single day and measure your labor.  Instead, all they have to go on is your word that you worked very hard on a long project of which they can see no tangible results.  It makes you see how our livelihood is so disrespected from an effort point of view.  We live in a society where people act like you must EARN the right to be tired.  To do so you must be able to show proof of your work.  That is not always so easy for a writer.  I think that’s part of the reason so few people make it as writers.  You have to be strong enough to be able to say to yourself, “Hey, I worked my tail off on this today even though I only accomplished x amount.  I know I worked hard and that is enough for me.”  Now I think I’ll watch the rain again.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

We finally learn the truth of Dirk Grithinshield’s fate.

Linvin’s eyes grew large and his mind began to race.  The picture was becoming all too clear.  “Now this Grithinshield fellow was a man of some importance in Sartan and through his connections had long since possessed the staff and key I sought.  Though the staff held some importance, Necromancer assured me it was the key I needed to open the chest.  Grithinshield had them since before the War of the Unclaimed Territory and had been searching for the chest for more than ten years.  “It was a difficult situation.  My agents searched his work with no luck but his house was like a fortress.  A break-in there would create undesirable exposure.  The last thing I wanted was another war with Sartan.  If a theft from or the murder of one of their most prominent citizens were to be traced back to me, I could forget about Romadon.  So long as he was in Sartan, we could not touch him.  “Then we devised a way to coax him into coming to us.  Word was sent that the chest was in Ravensburg and its owner would be willing to part with it for a fee.  Knowing he would be traveling through the Territory, we put every bounty hunter and bandit on alert with a price on Dirk Grithinshield’s head.  He took the bait and was captured by some bandits in the Eastern Forest.  Much to my dismay, however, Dirk had not brought the staff and key along on his journey.  Since the bandits killed him during his capture, it was impossible to interrogate Grithinshield. “Being highly frustrated, I sent a team of assassins to Sartan to research the matter further and attain at least the key.  They could use whatever devices they wished so long as they could not be traced back to the Empire and me.  Gathering all the information they could, they reported Grithinshield’s widow, Jelena shut herself up in their estate and was exceptionally difficult to reach.  Her brother, Anvar Greenlith, lived on the edge of town and was her lone visitor.  Figuring Dirk to be a cautious man they determined Greenlith would be an unlikely custodian of the artifacts. “Then a piece of intriguing news came to our Team Leader’s attention.  Grithinshield had a son named Linvin.  He was sent away right after Dirk obtained the staff.  At first we thought it was banishment of an embarrassing offspring but we soon discovered otherwise.  He was sent to study in Valia with Sedemihcra, the Master Teacher of Warfare.  It was proposed the boy had been made the guardian of the items and we may have better luck exploring that direction.”

Saturday Excerpt, "Quest"

Welcome to Missandor.

The morning sun poked curiously over the horizon.  It painted the sky in a dazzling display of vibrant colors.  The brilliant star seemed to pause for a moment, while taking its first look at the world, to which it was bringing light.  The majestic, glimmering light brought a caress to the silky spring clouds.  They would continue to carelessly banter about the sky, riding winds where they led. As the dark of night retreated, a dense fog still stubbornly held the land in a cloak of disguise.  Such a spiteful deed by its dark counterpart, seemed to displease the sun.  It resolved to rise steadily into the air and shine brightly down upon the usurper with all its might.  Being no match for such luminance, the night reluctantly withdrew its misty blanket and released the land to the dawn. As the haze dissipated, it gracefully revealed treetops where one might expect the ground to be.  With more and more of the air clearing, the trees spread out in all directions.  It was a great forest of redwoods, which seemed quite normal at first glance.  Upon closer inspection though, it could be seen that the trees were twice as wide as houses and were spaced out evenly, most certainly in a deliberate pattern.  It was not just a forest, but also a town. The trees were actually the town of Missandor. The spacing of the giants formed a grid, which created streets through the town. There were no houses there in a conventional sense.  The inhabitants lived within and upon the trees. Missandor was a community of elves. The swarthy skinned folk with brown hair and eyes were slightly more modest in height than their human counterparts. As a whole, it could be said that elves were a friendly and kind people but also intensely proud and distrusting of other races.  In Missandor, however, the population was known to be accepting of different cultures and races, making for an atypical elven town. The quiet streets soon erupted with the sounds of the market opening for business.  Stands, carts and stores of all types were opening.  In a matter of minutes, the town had gone from a simple forest to a merchant conglomerate. Sounds of children playing all around, blended with the haggling taking place at the vendors.  It created a symphony of sound, which was pierced on occasion, by the ringing of a bell on the local water wagon.  It was pulled by two horses and driven by a kindly old elf that had been delivering this precious commodity to homes since he was a child.  He would most likely continue his task until his eventual demise.  He was a constant in the ever-changing township.

Writer's Neutral

One thing I have always prided myself on is never having writer’s block.  To be fair, I don’t usually sit down to write unless I have something ready to go.  I tend to have this thing I will call writer’s neutral.  It’s the strangest thing.  I know exactly what I want to write and what I want to say.  It is all storyboarded and thought through.  Then something comes up and I have to take care of it right away.  Then something else does.  Then I remember something I was supposed to do.  When all is said and done, I sit down in front of the computer and stare at the screen.  The words are there in my mind but I’m stuck in neutral.  I can’t bring myself to write the words down.  For me (to extrapolate on my music analogy from yesterday) writing is like dancing a waltz.  It is a slow, methodical display of passion carrying one away to somewhere else.  It’s hard to get ready to waltz when you know you will have homework to help with or a family outing soon or even your spouse wanting you to spend that time with them.  So you are left not with the time for a long piece by Strauss but rather a quick hit from the Beatles.  Both are great.  But they are two different types of dancing.  So you are left with this short window that started later than you wanted or ends earlier than you would like or both.  There is that blank screen and you think to yourself, “If I start writing now I’m going to be interrupted and lose my train of thought or else keep telling the other party to wait and risk creating an awkward situation.”  Neither prospect is pleasing.  Thus you stare at the screen in neutral.  The words are there.  The question becomes whether there is the time and conviction to get them down.  I have played both sides.  I have been the person locked in the computer room writing with all my heart for days if not weeks.  The next thing I know I am an alien to my own family.  Plans have been made of which I am not a part and decisions have been made without my input.  It is a lonely, isolated feeling.  On the other side of the coin I have taken part in all sorts of activities and been involved in all the plans.  Then my writing comes to a complete stop and is totally ignored.  Either way, a little part of me dies inside.  So I try to be all things to all people and find myself stuck in neutral in front of the computer with the kids about to get home from school.  That will not work.  So much is in my head screaming to be written.  My mind wants that long waltz.  Sometimes I guess you just have to take turns deciding what part of your life to indulge.

Giving Thanks To Writing

The list of things we take for granted in this world is longer than any blog I could write.  I will not try to give thanks for everything we fail to appreciate as this piece would turn into nothing more than a list.  Instead, I want to focus on one thing I am thankful to have in my life.  (This is in no way meant as a slight to my family or loved ones.)  In speaking in terms of a non-person, the most important thing I am thankful for in my life is my ability to write.  One night when I was a child I was sitting with my mother watching PBS during what I liked to call one of their “Beggathons.”  In between the pleas for money they would show concert pianist playing everything from Chopin to Gershwin.  I had just finished listening to my favorite Beach Boys cassette (Yes, I came to the party late but still know the value of a good four part harmony) and had no taste for the piano pieces my mother closed her eyes and drifted away during.  She was appalled when I heard “Rhapsody in Blue” and said, “Hey, they’re playing the United Airlines song!”  My mother buried her anger as a former music major in college.  She told me to watch the pianist.  To my amazement, he was not even looking where his fingers were going.  They just danced across the keys like some magic puppeteer was controlling them.  It was like the music was coming out of him and not the piano.  Then she told me to close my eyes and just feel the music.  I did as she asked and it was like a wave flowing over me.  In that instant I had a sudden appreciation for a great performer.  He made the music come to life.  Some time later my cousin played “Rhapsody in Blue” on the piano and she was very good.  What I heard though was a collection of notes and not the wave of music I had been so amazed by.  We have all read good writers and not so good writers.  When I sit down at the computer with an idea and no one around to disturb me, I feel like that concert pianist letting the words flow in a majesty of diction.  It is not often but sometimes I can get on a roll.  When I am done I look at the screen and stare in wonder at what I have just created.  Perhaps no one else will like it but to me I have made something that transcended time and space if only for that briefest of moments.  I will be proofreading my work and come to that part.  I pause and smile every time.  The memory of that pianist comes to mind and I cannot help but grin.  I am not an arrogant or vain fellow but I know when I nailed it.  That is the greatest feeling in the world.  So today, I am thankful for writing.  This is my stage.  Let the words flow.

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

The pieces start to come together.

The crowd mumbled at the utterance of the name.  Linvin and his company were immediately at attention.  As the noise grew to a crescendo Gramlick once again addressed his master.  “That is a bedtime story, My Lord.  Please tell me you don’t think you’re going to find it and lead our armies to victory?” Mandrean nodded to Fendri.  The Housemaster abruptly stood and disappeared into the hall from which Lord Mandrean arrived.  Moments later, he returned followed by two Imperial Guards carrying a stone chest the size of an anvil.   Strange letters were carved along its entire gray surface.  The lid was clearly separated into two equal sides.  Each was held closed by a latch forming a keyhole.  The soldiers set it on the ground before the Emperor.  They stepped away and Fendri returned to his seat.  Necromancer could barely remain seated as excitement took hold. Mandrean addressed Gramlick again.  “I don’t need to find it.  The Red Sapphire is in the chest before you.  I am currently the most powerful man in the world because of my position.  I will soon be the most powerful individual because of my abilities.”   Gramlick was dumbfounded.  “You mean to tell me the Legendary Red Sapphire, not seen since the Dark Ages, sits before your feet in that chest?”  Mandrean held out his hand toward Fendri who quickly filled it with a scroll.  “The writings are ancient and can only be read by Necromancer,” the Emperor answered.  “He assures me the Red Sapphire is in the right side of the chest.  The left side I presume to be some sort of a trap.  He is completely sure it is in the right side.  Is that correct, Necromancer?”  The eager Court Magician answered, “It is clear, My Lord.  The Red Sapphire is in the right side of the chest.”  “How did you come by this chest?” Gramlick asked in amazement.  “Have a seat, Old Friend, and I will tell you all.”  He opened the scroll and read silently for a moment.  Then he addressed the court again.  “Let me tell you all a story you will find most interesting.  Several years ago one of our iron mines found this chest deep within a section of solid rock.  It was not buried there.  It was completely surrounded as though the rock formed around it.  After the chest was sent here Necromancer told me the Red Sapphire was contained within and its master would command fantastic power.  The problem before me was that this was the end-piece of a puzzle.  The writings spoke of a staff and key that were the other components of the mystery.   In spite of all Necromancer’s efforts, even he could not open the chest.  The only way to gain the gem was to locate the other pieces of the puzzle.  “So I sent out agents around the world and they made an amazing discovery.  It would seem there was a merchant of some note in Sartan who also sought the Red Sapphire.  His name was Dirk Grithinshield.”  

Saturday Excerpt "Quest"

Things behind the scenes are going south in a hurry for Linvin’s family.
Summer turned to autumn and the rainy season followed in turn.  When the clouds lifted after the winter months, they revealed the robust spring for which the region was renowned. Though Fraylic was immense and wealthy, not all areas of the city shared in the prosperity.  A dilapidated warehouse district occupied the south side of the city. Buildings that once were prized property, had fallen into disrepair and lack of use.  Even the roads in the district, that once were paved of the finest stone, had degraded to such a state that their former greatness seemed more fantasy than reality. It was a moonless night.  Only the occasional working streetlamp lit the area in which the sun had given its merciful daily reprieve.  The cloak of darkness enveloping the area hid a multitude of evils.  Even the Town Guard, usually diligent in their duties, turned a blind eye to the region.  Theories ranged from payoffs to a simple fear of the vermin on two or four legs. Regardless of the reason, the area was scarcely patrolled and became a haven for those not wanting to be found or bothered. The quiet blackness was disturbed by the sound of shoes walking along the street.  Their pace was erratic. At first, they were steady steps, but as the figure in the darkness neared an illuminated area, the steps came to a halt.  Then slowly, the sound returned, as the person went to great lengths to remain in hiding.  After traversing a seemingly short distance over a long period of time, the hidden figure neared an alley with a working street lamp at its entrance. Out from the shadows, stepped a young human woman wearing a cloak over what appeared to be a servant’s uniform.  She looked apprehensive as she pulled the cloak tight and peered about.  There was no movement on the street.  She sighed without seeming particularly relieved and turned down the alley. Refuse lined the sides of the passage and rats of ever increasing size scurried near her feet.  Her steps were taken more and more slowly.  Even so, as she looked behind, the light on the roadside looked distant and hardly discernible. When she turned back to her original direction, she stepped squarely into a man of great size who had emerged from the darkness.  Startled, she jumped backward and ran directly into a second person.  Before she could react, the second person grabbed her arms and prevented her from moving.  The assailant in the front, pressed a blade firmly against her throat. “Scream and you die,” said the voice of a man in the front.  The woman did not flinch.  There was silence, as the blade pressed so tightly against her skin, blood began to trickle from her neck.  Even as the blood ran, she did not move. “People say there could be frost this spring,” the man with the knife stated. “Not in the south,” she said firmly. The blade was removed from her neck.  She immediately kicked the instep of the man holding her and elbowed him in stomach, then she turned her wrath on the man with the knife.  She kicked it out of his hand and with a spin, kicked again, this time colliding with the side of his head.  The man staggered but did not go down.  He lashed back surprisingly fast and struck her in the jaw with his fist.  The man from behind joined the fray and the three ferociously exchanged blows. “Enough!” yelled a voice from the dark end of the ally.  With that one word, the three participants immediately ceased hostilities and stood panting.  “You are all professionals,” the voice called, “act like it.” The woman gave one last kick to the shin of the man who had held the knife to her.  “You cut me Two!” she snipped as the blow landed. “If you hadn’t answered the question right I would have shown you a real cut,” Two answered while rubbing his shin.  “What’s your problem Six,” the man who had held her arms said.  “I’ve had worse cuts shaving my face.  Of course, you probably have too.” Six turned to him and kicked him in the groin.  He fell to the ground and she stood over him.  “Come now, Three,” she chided.  “I get worse pain than that from wearing these shoes.” “I said enough,” the mysterious voice called again.  He was joined by two other figures from the blackness.  “On this mission we work as a team, not individuals.  Our target is not in this ally.  The next person to step out of line will become my target.  Clear?” Five voices answered in unison, “Clear One.” “Alright then,” One said as he approached Six. “What is the status of the target?” Six stepped forward and gave her answer, “I have steadily increased the dosage of the poison in her food as planned.   Her condition has deteriorated to the point where she should be dead by now.” “Does anyone suspect anything other than natural causes?” One asked. “It is unclear,” Six answered.  “She has been increasingly attended by physicians and others.  The poison is very difficult to trace.  The symptoms are ordinary in nature.  It would take a knowledgeable doctor to detect the poison.” “With the finances at her disposal, we must assume that she has such a doctor,” One concluded.  “Is our presence suspected?” “Not that I can tell,” Six answered.  “I made sure the final doses would be administered by unknowing servants.  Not being there when she died, I would never be suspected.” “Let’s get to the point,” interrupted Two.  “Did you find the prize?” Six looked sheepish as she sought the proper words.  “I located it two weeks ago under her bed.  Each day I checked to make sure it was still there.  It was there this morning when I took her breakfast, but when I left this evening, it was no longer under the bed.” The other five voices started to murmur in despair.  One stopped the bickering once again.  “Quiet!” he said.  “If she was as bad off as you say, I do not think she would have had the strength to hide it.  Correct?” “No Sir,” Six answered confidently. “Then someone else must have taken it,” One surmised.  “Did she have any visitors today?” “The doctor came in the morning but he did not have it when he left,” Six answered.  “It would have been impossible to hide.” “Anyone else?” pressed One. Six was quiet for a moment, then she spoke quickly.  “Her brother came to visit this afternoon.  I…I did not see when he left.” “What do you mean?” Two demanded.  “How could you not see him leave?  Did he take the prize or not?” “I said that I don’t know!” fired back Six.  “It’s not like I could just sit there and watch the door all day. How inconspicuous would that be?  In order to maintain my cover, I had to see to chores.  When I went back to check on her, he was gone.” “And that is the point where you noticed it was missing?” One asked. “I did not have the opportunity to check until the end of my shift.  At that point, I noticed the prize was gone.” “Maybe it was hidden somewhere else in the house,” Five said. “If it was,” One surmised, “there is no way to search it with her now being dead.  The mansion will be crawling with Town Watch and investigators.” “So we are foiled!” hollered Two.  “Great.  All these months of work blown in one day!” “Shut up!” Six snapped.  “You would have fared no better.” “This arguing is pointless,” One affirmed.  “The most likely fate of the prize is that the target suspected foul play and gave it to her brother for safe keeping.  If that is the case, then there are two destinations we are most likely to find him.  Either he will be at his home on the other side of town or he will have gone to his nephew’s in Missandor.” “So do we split up?” Five asked. “No,” answered One.  “We will search faster together.  First, we will tear the brother’s house apart.  If we do not find it there, then we will move on to her son. Failure is not acceptable in this mission.  Now everyone move.  We will not sleep this night.” As they scurried down the alley, Two could not help but jab at Six again.  “It figures you would blow this for all of us.” “We will have the prize soon,” Six answered back, “but if you say one more thing I will kill you where you stand.” “Save it for our new targets!” yelled One as they entered the street.

The Technology River

You know technology is a lot like a river flowing by.  You can reach down and grab it.  For that instance you understand a piece of the master puzzle.  Then you look up and see the rest of the water has passed you by and the little bit of water you cling to is dated and slipping away.  Today’s technology is moving so fast that it takes all of one’s energy just to stand on the shore and watch it turn into tomorrow’s new creations.  Let me illustrate.  There was a time back in the late 1980s and early 1990s where I worked at length on Apple Macintosh computers.  The interface was so much simpler than using BASIC computer language to write the most rudimentary programs as I had been taught in school.  The Apple was sleek and easy to use.  It was surely the future.  I worked extensively on the system and had all my information saved in its format.  Then IBM computers started appearing with this “Windows” thing on them.  It was not compatible with my Apple data so I paid it no attention.  It would seem that I was one of the few who ignored Mr. Gates’ new software platform.  Pretty soon I was discovering everyone had an “IBM Compatible” computer and the only people left using Apples were architects and other designers.  It is safe to say I do not fall into that category.  Now I had a problem.  I was standing next to the river of technology just letting go of the water I had scooped up.  Unfortunately, the advent of the dominant Windows platform was now far downstream.  The only thing to do was wade into this river and try to pick up on the new method from those who had already been baptized in the new religion.  It was like learning the alphabet backward at first but with the help of some friends and coworkers I converted to Windows.  I had to be careful, though.  I was standing in the middle of the technology river with new products all around moving passed, becoming outdated (The Walkman), replaced by (The Discman) and improved upon (The MP3) all while I was consumed with the computer issue.  There was Windows 3.1.  Before I had that down Windows 95 came along and it was as if the atom had been split again.  I doubled my efforts there and learned it before Windows 98 was born.  Then I took the plunge and dropped a wad of cash on a computer which was out of date before the ink was dry on the receipt.  There’s the rub.  You invest so much in a computer that you aren’t ready to toss it aside whenever a new version comes along and so once again technology passes downstream.  I saw Windows 2000 and Millennium go by.  Then my computer died as it turns out they like to do.  They seem to have the life span of a Kim Kardashian marriage.  I bought an XP.  Then I had to change how I did some things before it broke and I had to buy the dreaded Windows Vista.  That system changed all the rules.  It took years to learn and master.  I watched Windows 7 pass by like that beautiful young girl you knew in school but were never brave enough to ask out.  Instead I waited until the evil Vista turned on me and I had no choice but to get out and save what little data I could.  I found myself washed up on the shore staring at the monster that was Windows 8.1 and had no choice but to submit.  Now I am trying to catch up once again as I am sure technology is floating some other beast my way.  It’s tempting to hold on to a hand full of the technology river.  But when it leaks away and you go back for more, the science has changed and it is hard to get your hands around, much less you mind.

Why Can't I Be Fat?

There is a movement in this country to not discriminate against people because of their weight or size.  As a person who is not small I applaud this movement.  For too long there has been support and even laws to protect other minorities while “Fat” people are not only open to daily ridicule but blatant discrimination.  Nowhere is this more evident than in the healthcare industry.   It has reached the point where insurance companies only want to insure you against being sick if they think you won’t GET sick.  That’s messed up.  The whole reason for having insurance companies in the first place is to absorb the cost when you ARE sick.  If you are overweight they figure you are more likely to need medical care.  Knowing the medical industry and their love of studies I do not debate the validity of this.  So what do they do to the people who need their services most?  They discriminate against them and charge them more even if the obesity is not something they have control over.   People can be alcoholics or drug users and they are said to have a “Sickness.” Fair enough.   Overweight people are simply treated as lazy.  That is unfair.  Not everyone who has a weight problem has control over it.  There are dozens of mitigating circumstances but they are cast aside by our judgmental society and insurance industry.  Where’s the sympathy and understanding for them?  When I was growing up there was an emphasis on being thin.  In our culture thin people are viewed as more attractive than heavy ones.  That’s nothing new.  The level of scrutiny now, however, is higher than I can ever remember.  My father had a crush on Marilyn Monroe and from what I gather he was not alone.  She was a size 8.  Today she would be considered a blimp in our ultra-thin society.  She was an absolutely beautiful woman.  I can’t picture people calling her fat.  Something changed over the years.  It is said to have come from the runways of fashion where models that look like heroin addicts have become the norm.  Watch “The Devil Wears Prada” sometime and you’ll see what I mean.  Somewhere along the way though, people started to make ultrathin into ultrachic.  It was after my generation.  The model I think best exemplifies the X generation is Cindy Crawford.  She still looks amazing.  She was never a toothpick, though.  She was a normal, healthy woman.  Today they would say she was too big.  I listen to young adults talking and the topic that always comes up is, “What gym do you belong to?”  It’s like everyone is in a gym these days.  Society dictates it.  With all due respect to people who suffer with alcoholism, young people treat alcoholics with more respect than obese people.  Why is one considered a sickness while the other is just a weakness?  That is just wrong.  Both people need help.  Then there are the mixed messages all around.  People talk about all the sex in advertising and television and then preach abstinence to their children.  In the same way we have doctors and “Wellness Professionals” telling us to stay away from carbs, fat and meat while commercials and restaurants throw bacon wrapped Angus sirloin burgers in a peppercorn ranch sauce with curly fries in front of us. (Actually that sounds pretty tasty)  One good thing I’ll say about being fat as opposed to other illnesses.  I can gorge myself on pizza and still drive home safely afterward.  Take that Doc! 

Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Mandrean drops a bomb at the end of this one.
“If everything goes exactly as you say we will still have a problem you have not considered.  The northern border of Romadon is separated by a mountain range with only three passes.  For protection Romadon’s King built fortresses in the passes to keep the goblins in check.  If your assault succeeds, those forts would likely be reduced in strength or abandoned completely.  We know the Cangons are up to something.  If they were to take advantage of the situation and invade from the north, would your army fight their own brothers?”
Mandrean’s face turned pale.  Then he said in a modest tone, “They have sworn allegiance to me and will serve me until death.” Again Gramlick laughed.  “I once told a girl I loved her.  It didn’t mean I was married to her. “What I am trying to say,” Gramlick concluded. “Is that even if things go exactly the way you desire, you will likely find yourself trapped between two armies in command of one about to mutiny.” Mandrean stomped back to his throne and drank from his goblet.  “Why must you crush my dreams of conquest?” he asked of his former teacher. “I am looking out for your best interest,” Gramlick offered.  “I have planned and won many battles for you.  This is not one you were meant to win.” “So you want me to just give up on defeating Romadon?” Mandrean snapped. “Why must you defeat them at all?” Gramlick said as he limped toward the throne.  “They are a powerful nation and would make a great ally.  They have never made an aggressive move toward us. I am also told you are holding Princess Mirianna captive.  Take her as your bride and unite the two houses.  We would have markets for our goods and a valuable friend in the west.” “What is it about today that makes everyone want me to take a bride?” Mandrean asked rhetorically. “I am told she is a beauty beyond compare,” Gramlick prodded. “Well she won’t be for long,” Mandrean grinned.  “I do not want an ally, a trading partner or a wife.  I want Romadon, defeated, subjugated and crushed.  As for their Princess, I have turned her over to our head jailor for interrogation.  She will give up all her secrets. Then her body will be dismembered and returned to her father.  Perhaps we can force him to attack us for a change.”
Gramlick shook his head and looked at the floor in disappointment.  “My Lord, even after all these years your strongest trait is your tenacity.  In this instance it will be your undoing.” Mandrean thought for a moment and smiled widely.  “I do not think so, Old Friend.  We will attack in a fortnight.  We will win.” Gramlick stared at his master with contempt and placed his hand on his hip.  “Just how do you figure that?” Mandrean sat up with fine posture and said, “Because I will lead the armies.” Gramlick nodded in acknowledgement though not in agreement.  “So you believe your presence there will alter the outcome?” Mandrean’s smile continued to grow.  “In a way.”  Then he addressed the entire court.  “Perhaps you have all heard of the Red Sapphire?”

Saturday Excerpt "Quest"

Here’s your Saturday excerpt.
Linvin’s head popped up and stared at his uncle. “Then what is this all about?” Anvar returned to his rocking and puffing.  After a few moments he formulated his words and spoke, “Your mother was absolutely set against your leaving.  What you have been experiencing tonight is the life your mother has envisioned for you since you were born.” “And my father’s plan?” “I can only hope his plan died with him.  It was reckless and dangerous.  With any luck at all, it would never bear fruit.” “Just tell me, Anvar, what was his plan?” “It is not for me to say,” Anvar answered.  “It was not my plan.” “So what am I supposed to do?” Linvin demanded. Anvar looked up at the sky.  Only a few clouds obscured the view.  At that moment, one of the clouds had hidden the reflection of the moon.  “Look at the sky Linvin.  Tell me, is the moon out tonight?” Linvin leaned back and took in the sky.  “Yes,” he answered simply. “How do you know?” asked Anvar.  “I do not see the moon anywhere.” “It is right there,” pointed Linvin.  “There are just some clouds blocking it from view.” “But you are sure it is there?” asked Anvar. “Prove it to me.  How can you prove that the moon is there?”
“Well,” Linvin said as he rubbed his chin, “We can just wait here until it comes out from behind that cloud.  Then you will see it.” “So even though the answer may be there all along, I will not be able to see it until the time is right?” Anvar asked. “Well, of course,” Linvin stated.  “Unless you believe it is there all the time, then your only choice is to wait for it to reveal itself.” “So you are telling me that I must just believe the moon is there until it appears and proves it?  You seem quite confident in the outcome.  How do you know that the moon will appear again?” “I do not know,” said Linvin.  “I guess it just always comes out sooner or later.” Anvar smiled and remarked, “And so will the answer to your question, my boy.  The answer is out there.  What you must do, is wait for it to present itself; just like your moon.  Until then, you must believe the answer will appear.” Linvin looked at the sky and rocked his chair. “And what do I do until I get my answer?” “I would suggest giving your mother’s ideas a chance.  No one said you have to get married right away. Get involved with the business.  It needs you right now.  I see a lot of your father in you and I think you will take to it quite well.  Try things your mother’s way and get to know the woman who will always love you more than any other.  Otherwise, the day will come when you will wish you had known her better.  Besides, there is more to do around here than wait for the moon to poke through some clouds.”

Man I Hate Insurance

I am one of those people who calls things what they are.  My case in point today is insurance.  This is legalized racketeering.  I feel like I am paying protection money to the mob only they find a way to make this legal.  Then these companies have the unmitigated gall to go on the media and advertise for your business.  I once had to get a bid for some insurance work (which they ended up not covering) and the contractor told me one of those simple but true sayings that stick with you.  He said, “Insurance companies don’t make money by paying claims.  They make money by collecting premiums.”  Sounds like a dumb revelation, right?  But look at all the commercials out there for insurance.  They talk about how they’re there for you in a crisis and how quickly they pay your claim.  Then they show some agent handing a blanket to a person who just had their home destroyed.  Enjoy the blanket, Dude, because IF they pay your claim you’ll be at the Motel 6 for at least a month first.  Not only do they want your money, but they want to pick and choose who they cover and how much to charge for their protection.  If it’s health insurance they want you to take a physical.  If you aren’t in perfect health it’s going to cost you.  And if you need a procedure done, first you have to shell out your money as a “deductible” before they will kick in, even though you’re paying them to protect you.  How about driving?  Well, if you had a ticket or traded paint with another car 2 years ago you might as well be playing Grand Theft Auto in real life from their perspective.  Oh, you have a straight A student dependent who just received their license?  Yeah, that just doubled your rate.  I had a flood in my basement where the sump pumps couldn’t keep up with the water pouring in and I was told it would only be covered if the water came in through a window or a pipe burst.  So I would have been better off to open the windows and let the water in that way?  What’s wrong with this picture?  I have full coverage on my car and a stone cracked the windshield over about an 18 inch length.  No problem.  I have glass coverage, right?  Well, it seems if the windshield needs to be replaced there is a $500 deductible that must be met first.  It’s only $345 to have them replace it.  I called a local place and they’ll do it on site for $225.  Thank goodness I had the insurance for that one, not.  So I called the insurance person and told them their insurance was worthless.  They said chips would be covered free.  Well the phone book has a dozen coupons for free or cheap chip repair.  How is that worth what they are charging?  But the worst part, the very worst part about insurance is that you have to have it.  It’s the law and its common sense because God forbid something catastrophic does happen and you don’t have it. You could get sued or be paying till you’re past on.  Man I hate insurance.

The Evil QVC

I was watching the show “Shark Tank” with my perspective daughter-in-law last night. (For those of you who don’t know “Shark Tank” is a show in which people with new businesses come before a group of billionaires and offer as little of their company as they can for investment capital.)  The billionaires want to make as much money off these people as possible if it is a good idea.  Therefore, if they see an opportunity they will offer harsh terms for their money knowing these people are only here because they could not find capitol elsewhere.  If the concept doesn’t appeal to a Shark they opt out of the bidding.  Time after time we watched people with good ideas fumble in front of these self-impressed fat cats because they could not pitch or sell their really good product well.  One of the sharks said she could sell a nail polish product a person was making on QVC in no time.  So the young lady who will one day marry my son turned and asked, “What’s QVC?”  I thought for a moment and said, “The spawn of Satan!”  You can turn on the television and not be able to find the remote.  In the time it takes you find that remote the evil people on that station and its twin, HSN will have you convinced to buy something you not only don’t need but upon reflection don’t really want.  They tell you how great a deal it is and that it can’t last long.  There is a clock counting down in the corner of the screen.  Then there is limited stock.  Another counter is going through the roof.  They get a buyer on the phone who is so happy and they just gush about the product.  Then the salesmen (and women) keep pointing out features and benefits.  This was what my thought process was about a laptop they were selling.  If you could have read my mind this is what you would have heard.  “Hm.  A laptop.  I don’t need one of those…Wow.  That thing looks light.  The guy is just casually holding it open with one hand…Look how thin it is and the screen is so thin and bright…Wow, is that “Finding Nemo” their showing?  It looks awesome on that screen…No way.  It has 1000 gigs of ram?  That’s insane for a laptop…And it comes with a 10 year antivirus and lifetime warranty/service so when I don’t know what to do I can just call them?  If I get a virus they’ll just fix it?...The battery goes for 8 hours…There are 4 colors to choose from; wait one just sold out.  Drat!  I liked that color.  Well the black one’s still pretty cool looking but they’re almost out of that one too?...And it’s only $499.99 for the whole thing with free shipping and handling.  I know I’ve seen more expensive ones than that in the store because I just bought a new desktop a few months back and they were way more expensive…Hang on.  In 30 minutes the price goes up $100…This is too good a deal to pass up.”  I explained every part to my young counterpart and realized she knew as much about computers as I do about rocket science.  She asked if I was getting it.  I paused and realized this was meant to be an example of how they sell on this station and here I was ready to open my wallet.  After changing the channel I sat for a minute and realized what I had almost done.  Man, these people are good at their job.  Like I said, the Spawn of Satan!  I gotta get my books on there.